“How about we don’t?”
That deep, powerful voice hit me from the side.
My fragile heart pulsed.
Kale stepped out from the shadows, his hands still stuffed in his pockets.
Moonlight poured in from above, striking against all the curved, defined angles of his beautiful face.
Evan squeezed my hand almost frantically when he realized Kale was standing right there, two feet away from us.
“What are you doing here?” The words were a frenzied whisper.
“Stalking you, clearly.” He fought for the joke, but that mouth only managed to minimally tweak up at the side. Too heavy with the sadness that rimmed his lips.
I could feel my son’s own turmoil. The questions coming off him as the man who’d rescued us then abandoned us took another step in our direction.
The air grew thick.
Dense and full.
My pulse thrummed.
Erratic.
My breaths turning choppy.
“I’m just gonna . . . go check out the auction items.” Jenna’s tone was cautious, her eyes searching when she looked at me to find out if that was what I wanted.
If I wanted to be alone with him or if I wanted for her to step in and intervene.
Problem was that I wasn’t so sure I knew the answer to that myself.
Finally, I gave her a tight nod while still staring at Kale because I couldn’t seem to tear my attention from his face.
When she disappeared back inside, I finally spoke. “What are you really doing here? Why would you stand up there and say all those things?”
It was a plea. A warning. I didn’t know.
I didn’t know if I should tell him to stop, not to come a step closer, or throw my arms around his neck and beg him to never leave me the way I was aching to do.
He blanched, and all those defined, distinct curves of his face went rigid in stark vulnerability. “I don’t have anywhere else to go . . . not when wherever you are is the only place I want to be. Because I meant every single thing I said when I stood up there. You two taught me what it really means to hope.”
“You don’t get to do this, Kale Bryant. I told you that day in my kitchen, you don’t get to come in and make promises and then just walk away. And you sure as hell don’t get to walk right back in whenever you feel like it.”
And I knew he had his demons. I respected that. But if he wanted a place in our lives, he had to be certain he was all in. That he could handle my son’s disability. His old fear.
He roughed one of those big hands through his hair and looked off into the distance as if he were trying to gather himself.
Evan climbed down onto his hands and knees beside me, his notepad on the ground as he began to furiously write across a clean page.
My son nearly broke me when he turned it toward Kale.
You promised you cared about us. That you wouldn’t hurt my mom. That she was the prettiest mom in the world. You said you were her boyfriend and I was your favorite. Remember?
And I knew that it broke Kale in some way, too. Because the towering man dropped to his knees in front of my child.
His hands were shaking when he took the pad and wrote out his response.
I did. I was a coward, and I left you. And I know I don’t deserve the chance, yours or your mom’s forgiveness. But if you can both forgive me, I promise that I will never leave you again. Not as long as I’m living.
Oh God.
My spirit licked and danced and my body swayed.
Lightheaded.
Evan sat back on his heels, his hands flying in front of him.
YOU PROMISED I WAS YOUR FAVORITE. I THOUGHT I WAS YOUR FAVORITE.
Desperation wove into Evan’s movements, and his entire face pinched in grief, the remnants of the rejection Kale had inflicted. He lifted his thick glasses, swiping the tears that streaked down his face with the sleeve of his jacket.
Kale gasped over a sob.
Physical, wrenching pain.
He grabbed the notepad, his back heaving as he leaned over to write.
You are my favorite. You are my everything. I’m so sorry I hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you.
Evan’s face was completely blanketed by the heartbreak written all over him, soaking wet with the tears that wouldn’t stop falling when he read what Kale had written.
I’d warned Kale what was on the line. Did he see it now? The kind of pure love my son had trusted him with?
Evan sat up on his knees and signed more, anger seeded in the emphatic movements.
OUR HOUSE IS L-O-V-E. YOU HAVE TO LOVE IF YOU LIVE THERE. THAT’S THE RULE.
Hardly able to see through the bleariness, I attempted to start to translate, but Kale lifted his own hands.